In Which Holmes Blames the Fourth Wall
by Voldemort's Spawn
Summary: The last in the Fourth Wall Trilogy. This time however, we look in to see what Holmes and Irene are up too. Holmes blames the author for everything.


**In Which Holmes Blames the Fourth Wall**

**As promised to **_**KayMoon24, **_**here is Holmes and Irene with their encounter with the fourth wall. ****It's more fluff than anything but Holmes needs some lovin, especially since Ginger isn't giving him any XD.**

**I own nothing!**

* * *

"Sherlock." There was a knock at the door. "I know you're in there. May I come in?"

"No."

Holmes was lying haphazardly rather than sitting in the chair in front of the crowded desk. However, once he heard the knob turn, he quickly straightened up; pretending to tinker with the clock he'd taken apart earlier.

"Holmes, what are you doing?"

The voice was thick and sweet, making his skin crawl. He didn't like it. Holmes stared at the wall trying to come up with a plan to make her leave.

"Can you not see I'm busy, woman?" Holmes said, as he continued to stare at the wall.

"You don't _look_ busy," Irene smiled.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and lightly pressed down as she slide them down his chest until her arms were completely wrapped around him. She rested her chin against his neck and smirked when she felt his pulse quicken ever so slightly.

"I'm always busy." He said softer but still refusing to look at her. "Why are you here? People will start to talk, you know."

She giggled and stood back up, bringing her hands back upward and kept them rested on his shoulders.

"Are you worried about your reputation?" She teased, flexing her fingers to knead his shoulders. "I believe you destroyed that age's ago."

"She put you up to this didn't she? Of course she did." He said to himself, utterly refusing to let Alder's methods distract him. "Once, twice maybe, but three? _You_ only appear when there is trouble yet here you are no trouble to be heard of for the third time."

"Who is _she?_ Should I be jealous?" Irene half-joked. "Have you finally realized the potential of the strange attraction you project toward women?"

"This is a serious matter," Holmes snapped, jerking himself away from Irene. "Her abuse of power has gone too far."

"Sherlock, what has gotten into you?"

For once she was wholly concerned. She never saw him this agitated before and it was quite disturbing.

"It's not what, it's who. She believes she can just waltz into our lives and control what she pleases." He stood up and paced the floor.

"_Who _Holmes? Who is this _she?"_

"The Author."

Irene blinked and stared at Holmes. If he had not said it so seriously, she would have believed him to be joking. However, Holmes did not joke; this was serious.

"The Author." She repeated.

"As we speak she's writing nonsensical lies and controlling our every emotion and movement." He stopped and glanced up to the ceiling, "In fact she's most likely controlling every word we speak at this very moment."

Irene stared and finally sighed.

"Sherlock, have you started drinking?" She crossed her arms and raised a brow. "The cocaine is one thing but the addition of alcohol is not wise." She added with a smirk."I am not drinking," Holmes defended.

"Does this woman have wings and look like a fairy?" Irene couldn't help but say it in a teasing tone, "I never picked you for an Absinthe drinker."

"I am not drinking!" Holmes shouted.

He was never one to lose his temper, yet he refused to indulge Irene's falsities. He scowled and cursed the woman (or rather women) who were making him this way.

"Darling, there is no need to yell." She whispered tilted her head and walked up to Holmes.

"Watson's seen her." He said offhandedly as she approached him.

"Has he now?" She smiled.

He hated that smile.

He hated that smile for making him feel weird. The feeling worsened as he watched her take his hand, raising it up and intertwining it with her own. He should have stopped her. He should have wrenched his hand from hers and made her leave.

But he was in awe.

He was in awe at just how small her fingers were compared to his; how pale they were. He wondered how something so simple could be so complex and different. And so delicate. Holmes knew her hands were anything but fragile, yet they appeared as if the slightest movement would snap them in half.

"What does Watson make of this 'author'?" She asked, breaking him from his reverie.

He blinked and tilted his head. She was rather too close for his comfort.

"He finds her completely appalling yet fascinating." He scooted a few centimeters back, hoping she wouldn't notice.

"I asked what Watson thought of her, not you," She smirked.

"That is what Watson thinks of her."

Holmes frowned and pulled his hand from hers. He turned his back to her, closing his eyes and steadying himself.

"You still have not explained yourself, Adler. Do refrain from changing the subject matter."

"I already told you," her voice rang in his ears, "I'm here to see you."

His eyes were still closed and he heard her shoes clunk against the floor. If his judgment was correct, she was in front of him again.

"You must get lonely, being here all alone."

She spoke slowly and he felt those words as if she spoke them with her mouth pressed to his. He opened his eyes and froze in place while he looked down at the woman standing in front of him with mere inches between them.

"Leave," he breathed softly, forcing himself to talk.

She leaned up, her face practically in his and his mind told him to step back but he couldn't. Or maybe, he thought, he just might not want too.

"Make me." She grinned, her breath dancing across his mouth.

Just push her back, his mind told him. However, somewhere the wires that connected his brain to his body were temporarily detached. All he could think about was the gleam of mischief that played in her eyes.

"I didn't think so." She smiled her damned smile and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Later, he'd spend the rest of the evening wondering just why _her_ smile affected him and altered him in ways that even the strongest of drugs could not. He'd ponder how much the mysterious 'author' influenced his and her behavior and how much of what happened was real and later, though he hated to admit it, he'd wonder why he let her leave.

However at the present moment, his mind was utterly blank and his body took a mind of its own as he pulled her to him and kissed her.

* * *

**Oh dear Holmes, if you only knew I had nothing to do with any of it... okay maybe the beginning but I solemnly swear that you and Adler wrote yourselves. Trust me, if I took the reins, Watson would have walked in and insanity would have ensued! **

**Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
